Dirty Nails

They say in so many words he doesn't care
maybe a look conveys the judgment of the suburbs
unzipped by the eyes what can a guy do
but carry on with a chance of shame
low in the sky over the left shoulder
this is the forecast whenever you think
there smells evil the glance of death
that separates the living from those
eternally damned to their twisted dogma
and hastily made opinion wow they say
you been gardening or what maybe
a grease monkey maybe stayed up late
making chocolate figurines maybe dark
where you live and cannot find the brush
normally reserved for washing potatoes
those little ugly fruit our ancestors
winkled out of the earth between
blood sacrifices clusters of gold
washed in the mountain stream
saving some to plant for later
touching with some love the dark
green leaves rising out of the ground
marveling with some regard for beauty
the blossoms that say in so many words
the time the tight pastel clusters
that say it's time